


The Endangered Ones

by Professor_Maka



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, SoMa - Freeform, Soul Eater Reverb 2016, Soul x Maka - Freeform, warlock au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7634962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_Maka/pseuds/Professor_Maka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maka Albarn is just your average college student working her way through school when she meets quiet, enigmatic Soul Evans. There's something about him she can't quite put her finger on, something beyond his odd looks that draws her in and holds her there. When Maka finally discovers there's more to Soul than meets the eye, will she be in danger of losing more than just her heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my final reverb, based on the amazing art and concept created by piercelovewonton on tumblr. Thank you to lunar, laura, along with my artist, Tiff, for looking over the whole thing, and to Kat and Sahra for looking at the earlier chapters, and Bendu for making some very important early suggestions. I appreciate all of you. This wouldn't be the same without you.
> 
> Embedded art is by piercelovewonton, and you also can find these fantastic pieces linked on my tumblr page.
> 
> WARNING: This fic contains both semi-explicit sexual content and graphic violence. Read at your own risk.

It's mid-shift and the cafe is packed to the rafters as it usually is in the afternoon. Already tired from a grueling morning of midterms, Maka would love to take her break. It's so crowded, though, that they need her on register, so she greets the next customer in line, barely able to keep the plastic smile on her lips.

"Welcome to DC Cafe, can I help you?"

"Uhhhhh."

She's so used to orders being barked at her by busy business people and frazzled college students that the hesitation gives her pause. She looks at the guy in front of her, _really_ looks, and notices startling red eyes beneath a shock of somewhat messy white hair that he runs his hand through almost nervously, his eyes darting between the counter and the rest of the room.

"You want coffee?" she prods helpfully.

"Yeah." He scratches at the back of his neck, and Maka uses his averted gaze as a chance to inspect him more closely. He just seems so _familiar_ somehow. Though she's sure she's never seen him before-she'd definitely remember a guy with white hair and red eyes-she still feels like she should recognize him. It's strange, and she's not quite sure what to make of him as he looks up at the menu like he's trying to read Attic Greek.

"Tall-house blend-cream and sugar, maybe?" she helpfully supplies the most common order.

"Uh, no." He squints up at the board, eliciting a chorus of huffs and groans from the line behind him. "Americano. Gigante, I guess. Thanks."

"Oh-kaaaaaay. Name?"

"Soul."

"Seriously?" Maka scoffs, unable to stop herself. She's seen a lot of ridiculousness in the name department in her time at the the cafe-Jack Hoff, Fah Que, Mike Hunt, the list is long-but this is a new one.

"As a heart attack." He meets her gaze for the first time and holds it and she feels- _something_. Something warm and strange in her chest that she wants to stifle and let die, that she wants to fan and make burn bright, that she just doesn't understand.

Tearing her eyes away to the register, she forces out, "That'll be five-fifty."

"Seriously?" It's his turn to scoff.

"As the zombie apocalypse."

He laughs and shakes his head as he hands over a ten. "Pfft, you're terrible at this." His voice is deep but warm, and she likes the way it rumbles through her even from a few feet away, the way she can practically feel it in her bones. It still seems so much like she _knows_ him from somewhere, his face, his voice, but she _doesn't,_ and it's nagging at her like an itch she can't quite scratch.

"You can pick up your drink at the other side of the counter-have a nice day!" Maka calls out to his back with forced cheer as he makes his way to the pick up area. She tries to track where he goes, but it's so busy that she loses sight of him as she helps other customers until she finally gives up and forgets what had been so interesting about him to begin with.

She remembers an hour later when she drops down into the only empty table in the shop, sighing with relief at getting off her feet before she notices him in the little booth near her. He's looking intently at the paper on the table, scribbling furiously. The paper is lined oddly, and Maka thinks she recognizes it as music, but she doesn't know enough about it to be sure

It's strange, watching him with his brow furrowed and lips pursed in concentration. She's overwhelmed with that same odd familiarity, like she's watched him a thousand times before, but _she doesn't know him._ Death City isn't that big, just a college town in the middle of the desert. She grew up here-knows all the locals by name, most of the college kids by sight-and she's sure she's never seen him, familiarity be damned. This is _stupid_.

Unwrapping her egg salad sandwich, Maka takes a disgruntled bite as she opens the novel in front of her and stares it down. She's got reading for school this week she _needs_ to do, yet as her eyes keep straying from her novel to his familiar-unfamiliar face, she sighs, because it's rude to stare and this is ridiculous anyway. He looks up suddenly, meeting her gaze before she quickly averts it.

Caught staring. Her mama would have given her an earful if she could see her now.

She focuses on her book again, ignoring how hot her face feels as she tears into the egg salad.

"That lunch looks sad," Maka hears a voice say and she recognizes the deep timbre of it from his order earlier. "Got some sushi earlier if you want some."

Looking up from her book in spite of the heat in her cheeks, she makes a face. "Gross, no thanks."

The stranger had been grinning as he met her gaze but looks suddenly crestfallen, and Maka feels a pang of regret hit her forcefully. "Buuuuut I could sit with you if you want," she adds. "It's crowded and would free up a table. I mean-" she colors again "-if you don't mind."

"Nah, don't mind."

And that's how she finds herself sitting across from this boy named Soul that she knows but doesn't, trying to read her English assignment as she munches on egg salad and failing miserably. Instead, she looks up and he's looking at her contemplatively as he chews his own mess of fish yuck. He colors when she does and quickly casts his eyes back down, but Maka soldiers on.

"So, um, I thought I knew all the regulars, but I've never seen you around. Are you a transfer student or…?"

"Something like that." He flicks his gaze back up nervously and grabs another piece of nigiri to dip in his little plastic tray of sauce then shovel into his mouth. "Don't get out much either," he adds as he swallows roughly.

"Oh, that's-um-okay... My name is Maka, by the way." She's about to hold a hand across the table to shake but thinks better of it as he wipes his own sauced fingers on a napkin, so she waves awkwardly instead.

"Yeah, I know."

Her brow furrows in confusion, so he nods his chin in her direction. "Name tag. And I'm Soul, which I'm sure you remember, seeing as you didn't believe me when I said it."

"It's just-an unusual name is all!" she retorts indignantly.

"And Maka isn't?" His eyebrows go up.

Maka shrugs. "I'm half Japanese and my parents were hippies-my dad actually renamed himself Spirit before he met my mom." Her eyeroll is epic.

"Same. Not the Spirit part or the Japanese part, just the hippy parents bit. My parents made a try at being boho before they regained their socialite aesthetic." His own eyeroll is, perhaps, even more exaggerated than hers had been and they both laugh.

They fall into an easy conversation for the rest of Maka's break. She tells him about her time in school, working so she can keep a small apartment with her roommate and good friend Tsubaki, keeping a strict study schedule while trying to have a social life. When she admits that sometimes 'social life' entails going to the library to study with friends, Soul laughs and calls her a nerd. Their time together goes that way; she talks and he makes little comments and asks questions and it's comfortable, it's _nice_. The familiarity haunting her from the moment they first spoke remains, and it feels like they've known each other forever instead of just an hour. Then it's over and she realizes somehow she's done most of the talking and Maka knows no more about him, really, than his name.

With regret, she says goodbye and returns to her shift, thanking him for the company. Soul laughs and says, "Anytime," and a part of her really hopes he means it.

It's still busy as she reclaims the register-the day is rainy, dreary for the first time in well over a month as they hit late winter monsoon season, and people are flocking in for a warm pick me up. Another hour later, Maka excuses herself when there is a lull, claiming the door is sticking again-it _is_ -but she also needs air. Walking past where she'd sat with Soul earlier, she notices he's gone. She'd expected that, but still can't help but be stupidly, irrationally disappointed.

Opening the door to go outside, she catches a flash of white. It's him, he must have just left, and she's tempted, so very tempted, to call out to him and so they can talk _just a little longer,_ but she doesn't, just watches his back retreat into the gloom before oiling the hinges to the door. She almost feels like he glows, like she can see his aura, but of course that's silly. There's no such thing as auras, and whatever she sees must be a trick of the light.

Part of her wonders if she'll ever see Soul again, if she seems as familiar to him as he feels to her, part of her wonders why she _cares_ since she hardly knows him, knows little more than his name, and plus, he's _just another guy_ , just another person too likely to let her down.

Maka shoves down both parts as she goes back into the coffee shop and gets back to work.

* * *

The next day is a Thursday, so Maka is off work; she's always off on Thursdays, though her other day off varies. She's decided to go to the library to catch up on studying and finds a quiet table on a study floor, but when Blake comes in with an armful of books and plops down next to her with a loud, "Hey, Maks!" there's no stopping him. For the barest instant, she considers packing up and moving to another part of the library, but she quickly realizes he'd just follow her, so it would be wasted effort. Instead, she focuses on reading the novel she had tried to start yesterday during lunch, and for a little while, Blake is blissfully, uncharacteristically silent. Since her childhood friend and perpetual thorn in her side is not known for his patience or volume control, with his hair dyed a bright, eye searing blue, his loud slogan-prone muscle shirts, and his even louder voice, Maka counts her blessings and focuses on getting through more of _Sense and Sensibility._

This companionable silence lasts all of five minutes before Blake whoops out a loud, " _YUS!_ " and slams the book he had been looking through pages down on the table with an audible smack.

Groaning audibly herself, Maka tears her eyes from the assigned reading to glare at her friend.

"It's a library," she hisses. "People are trying to study, _shut up!_ "

"And I _am_ studying, nerd brain! Just found the coolest shit for the comic book I'm working on. I'm gonna make bank with this one! It's gonna be my big break!"

Maka rolls her eyes. Blake Barrett is a Phys Ed major with an Art minor who aspires to be greater than Stan Lee. His last big idea had been about a superhero named Black Star, PE teacher by day and masked vigilante by night, and had been alternately scoffed at and laughed out of the room.

"Alright, I'll bite, what is it this time? Black Star, football coach slash ace detective?"

"Pshaw, no, that's just _dumb_. But picture this, Maka! Black Star, lone warlock, last of his kind who were wiped out centuries ago in the great magic war. Hunters have exterminated the other surviving warlocks and are after him, so Star has to fend off his enemies while trying to fight crime. Cool, right?"

"That's actually-pretty good. Where'd you get the idea?"

Blake pushes over the book he'd slammed down earlier, a thick leather bound volume with gold lettering that declares the title to be _Warlock History._ Maka grabs it to flip through, and while the title reads "History," it is clearly a book of myths and legends about these title wizard types over time. Skimming through, the "war" Blake has spoken of is at the center of the mythology.

Frowning thoughtfully, she turns to Blake. "That's all fine and good, I guess, but it's _plagiarism_. You'd better credit this and get permission; this isn't exactly an original idea."

"Shyeah, like anyone is reading some obscure ass book from-" he flips to the title page "-1902. I think I'll be okay."

"Even if no one actually notices, it would be wrong to-"

"Yeah, yeah, let me handle the comic shit, pigtails. I'm a comic _God,_ the man who will surpass Stan Lee, after all."

"Whaaaaaatever." Maka rolls her eyes, not for the first time, before returning them to her book. "It's your lawsuit," she mutters under her breath, and just like that, the conversation is over, Blake scooping up his newest find to sprint out of the library and do the gods knew what.

For her part, Maka finds her focus shot. She's haunted by the idea of a race wiped out so brutally, of the few survivors hiding and struggling in a hostile world. She wonders what it would be like, to be so alone in the world, and thinks it would be very hard. Even with her long gone Mama and deadbeat, womanizing Papa, she is very far from alone.

Maka tries to blame her suddenly bleak mood on the season, the second day in a row of drizzly, depressing rain, but part of her knows better. It may just be a myth, but it strikes a chord within her that she doesn't understand, one that nonetheless shadows her in a veil of uncharacteristic sadness for the remainder of the afternoon.

* * *

Working again on Friday, she feels more tired than usual. It's just so _dreary_ , and the idea of lone warlock genocide survivors wandering the world, hunted and afraid, has haunted her dreams. Still, she brushes them off as she brushes so much off and focuses on the task at hand, in this case, taking orders. At least there had been no class that morning, thank whoever invented the Monday and Wednesday only course schedule; Maka'd had plenty of time to catch up on school work, even if it had been a bit of a slog, her head just not quit in the game.

Somehow, she's managed not to think of the stranger she'd gotten to know on Wednesday at all since then, but then she spots red eyes beneath a hoodie two hours into her shift. His smile seems genuine as he greets her and orders the same Americano as two days before. Her own smile is equally genuine. It's nice to see him again, even if it's just to take his coffee order, and when she tells him to have a nice day and please come again, she means it.

An hour after that, it's her break, and the urge to join him is strong. Instead, she takes a booth nearby, letting out a breath and quashing the silly longing to talk to him like she's some wide eyed thirteen year old with a schoolgirl crush. Maka should probably be surprised he's apparently waited around just for her-somehow she's not, and the realization that she had subconsciously been certain he _would_ wait surprises her. The feeling like she knows him, really _knows_ him, returns, and she feels breathless. But she _doesn't_ know him, she reminds herself again; Soul is just some random guy and she needs to _get a grip already_.

"Mind if I join you?" She's startled by his deep voice a few moments later, and before she can even think to answer, he's sliding into the booth across from her.

She scoffs. "I didn't say yes."

His face is carefully neutral as he shrugs. "I'll go if you want."

She wants to scream yes and no all at once. Her head says yes, leave, go. The way she's drawn to him is dangerous, she sees it, she should run far and fast. But her heart screams yes, the traitor, and her mouth forgets how to form words in the chaos of it all.

"You like this place that much?" Maka finally manages before taking a bite of egg. She'd been so tired and wrapped up in school work this morning that she hadn't even packed a lunch, so she's got a protein box and a chai latte instead. At least she gets her shift meal half price.

"Good coffee." He shrugs and then his face splits into a wide grin. "Service sucks, though."

"Just remember who makes your drink." She can't help but smile back, sweet and dangerous as she pegs his forehead with a grape from her meager lunch,

Though Soul yelps out, "Hey!" he doesn't seem too put out as he grabs the fruit that had bounced back to the table and pops it into his mouth, following it up with a bite from the oversized orange scone on his plate he must have bought as she went on break. Apparently, he'd chosen to go with cafe food as well, not a hint of raw fish in sight. Her stomach silently thanks him.

"So, you a music major or something?" she gestures with a flip of the hand to the sheet music he's gathered haphazardly in front of him, scrawled all along the staff lines with a flurry of little, hastily written notes. Maka wishes she weren't entirely musically illiterate so she could maybe get a meaningful sense of _something_ from the page, but it may as well be in ancient Farsi for all she can make sense of it.

"Or something," Soul agrees, grabbing the papers to shove back into his bag. "Not really very good, but sometimes I can't get a song out of my head if I don't put it on a page."

Maka tilts her head, thoughtful. "Hm, yeah, I feel that way about words sometimes. I'm not much of a poet, but sometimes the words just _have to come out_ my head feels so full of them."

His own nod is also thoughtful, along with the hum, before his face splits into another grin. It's more shit eating than menacing in spite of a mouth full of too sharp teeth. "Poetry though? Figures. Pegged you for a nerd from day one."

"What gave it away? The uniform or the fake customer service cheer?"

He laughs, and Maka finds she likes the sound. It's deep and rich and makes her feel warm. The urge to kick herself is strong because the last thing she needs in her life is a boy who can make her pulse race with a simple laugh. "Might have been the thick book you were reading, but really, I'm gonna go with the pigtails."

"Hey! What's wrong with pigtails?" Her huff expresses far more annoyance than she really feels; she knows they're silly, childish even, but they are also practical and cute and she's worn them since her mama left, and _so what_ if a small part of her fears her mom won't recognize her anymore without them?

"Nothing if you're eight." Soul looks as though he might be considering something profound for a second, tapping his chin and tilting his head before his grin widens. "You're not _actually_ eight, are you?"

Her only response is to peg him in the forehead with a second grape and take another rough, indignant bite of her day old hard boiled egg.

It's strange how comfortable it feels, this banter, and in spite of the reservations screaming through her head, when she has to get up after several more minutes of teasing and talking, a part of her still wishes she could blow off work and just _be_ , just spend time with this odd, snarky not-quite-stranger.

But Maka has a job to do, so she says, "See you later," and he says the same, and when she checks over an hour later, he's gone again. Her head rejoices, but in her heart, she hopes it's not for good.

It turns out it isn't.

Soul comes back the next day and the next-and each time she somehow ends up eating lunch with him, however reluctantly. And in spite of every resistance she tries to make, in spite of telling herself how stupid it all is, every time is better than the last, their banter teasing and friendly. Maka marvels again how it's like they've known each other for ages, it's so comfortable, and as much as she is loath to admit it, their lunches quickly become the highlight of her days. She tries to remind herself, tries so hard, that he's a _stranger_ , that she hardly knows him, that he could just stop showing up at anytime. It doesn't work; she still looks for him each day, and her heart soars to see that little smile he greets her with, the one he quickly covers in the mask of apathy she's come to notice he wears for most of the world. She doesn't _know_ him, but at the same time _she does,_ and it's strange and scary and maybe a little thrilling.

Day four, Maka complains about the weather. "This monsoon season is so _bad_ ," she groans before taking a bite of the turkey sandwich she's packed. Soul just raises an eyebrow so she continues. "I mean, there's always late winter rains, but usually we get some sun between-lots of sun between-but seven days straight of just _wet_? This is the desert. It's just _wrong_."

He responds with a shrug. "I sort of like it."

"Really?" It's her turn to raise eyebrows. "But it's so-I don't know- _dismal_. I miss the sun when I never see it."

"Mm, sure, but the rains also change things. It'll bring out flowers-lets you appreciate things you can't see otherwise."

It's an odd answer, and he quickly hides the wistful smile that threatens as he gives it.

"I guess," she agrees with the slightest pout. "I do like how pretty the flowers are in the spring."

That ghost of a smile haunts her for a moment, like an unspoken secret, but it is quickly enough forgotten as their lunch continues along with the rain.

* * *

The day he stays until far after her break surprises her. Everytime she looks his way towards the back of the cafe, Soul is scribbling furiously at his staff paper but for the few times he's looking her way, smiling with a strange mix of cocky shyness when she catches his eye before looking back down. She finds she likes his presence, likes having him just _there_ , and when he's still there as her shift ends, Maka is more pleased than she cares to admit.

He waits for her near the exit, his bag slung over one shoulder, opening the door for her as she leaves.

"You're still here," she says as they fall into step on the sidewalk.

Soul raises an eyebrow her way as he responds. "You said you got off at four and had class at five. Thought I'd walk you-" he pauses, stopping mid step, brow furrowed. She has to backpedal and spin quickly to catch him "-wait, I don't _have_ to walk you. I guess it was sort of fucked up of me to just assume you'd-"

"No." Maka raises a hand, cutting him off, and his face falls. He's about to say something, but she hurries to finish, realizing what he must think. "No, it's _fine!_ " she blurts. "I'd-I'd like you to walk me." She can feel the heat on her cheeks, but ignores it, soldiering on. "If, I mean-if you _want_ to walk me. Because you-"

"I want to walk you." Distress has quickly been overtaken by a smile, wide and genuine. "Be pretty stupid of me to hang out this long if I didn't, right?"

"Yeah-right." The sigh she breathes is relief, ridiculous and utterly vital. It's awkward, new, and Maka feels a nervous flutter at the idea that _he's waited just to walk with her._ It makes her feel stupid and silly and a bit giddy. Alarm bells blare in her head-this is dangerous and she knows it, letting him into more of her life than just her lunch break. "Let's-go then?"

"Yeah…" Soul agrees, and they fall into step again.

"So-" she ventures after a short time just walking "-you have class tonight, too? Monday is a pretty popular day for night classes."

"Huh?" Soul looks startled for the barest instant, but then, his face fades into habitual boredom. "Ah, nah, I'm going home after. Just thought the walk would be nice."

"Oh, okay." She nods slightly, wondering when he _does_ have class. Maka has never seen him on campus, and she would think their schedules were very different but for that he's generally around when she's working, so he can't be in class then, which means they must be on campus at the same time sometimes. Still, it's not a _tiny_ school and he's a music major-it would be easy enough to miss him. "Did you have class earlier, then?"

There's a pause, far too pregnant, and Maka flicks her eyes towards him as they keep walking. His hand runs through the back of his hair and he clears his throat slightly. "Not-exactly." He sighs. "Truthfully, I'm not really a student."

This time she's the one stopping, surprised. "Really? But I thought-"

"I-my-I mean-" Soul stammers, shakes his head. "Some-uh-family has a place here, and I needed to-figure some things out, I guess, so I came here. That's all."

"Oh," she breathes out. "Yeah, some people have vacation homes here for whatever reason." The laugh is only a little forced. "I don't get it, though. I'd much rather go to the beach, or somewhere green, or _something_."

It's Soul's turn to laugh, shaking his head ruefully. "Yeah, wasn't my first choice either, but it was available and I needed a place, so."

"Ah, yeah, makes sense." It reminds her of how very little she really knows about him, and Maka wonders for far from the first time why she keeps talking to him. It's stupid, so stupid, to befriend him, to _like_ him.

Too late to take it back now, she decides to simply enjoy his companionship as they meander their way to campus so she can go to class.

* * *

It becomes another habit, another thing Maka finds herself anticipating giddily that she shouldn't. She casually lets slip details about her schedule, and Soul just as casually hangs around until she's off. Some days, he just walks her to school, but when she has no class-well, since they're both free, why not grab a bite to eat together? Or hey, isn't that new movie out now? Or there's this great little band playing at the club down the street. For the next two weeks, wet, drizzly, gray weeks, he occupies most of her afternoons. School work is relegated to the late evenings, and she's getting less sleep, but she can't say she minds. In truth, she's never been more happy, loves spending time with him. Maka never realized how lonely she was until now, until she had something to compare it with. She has friends, plenty of friends, but not like this, not a best friend who is always around, not someone who-who makes her feel this warm.

It's exhilarating, which is also terrifying, but she shoves that down. She knows him, knows he has a brother now, knows he'd come cross country to find himself, knows he's a musician, that he plays piano though she's never heard him, knows he's thought about going to college to study music but just isn't sure who he is anymore. He reveals his soul in bits and scraps, and sometimes, she thinks maybe she can help him find himself, accept himself even, because she sees who he is and what she sees leaves her breathless.

Of course, there are other things, too, consequences for her new friendship. Tsubaki has been unrelenting with her questions, which means Liz and Patti and even Blake have been the same, but when it spills over into work, Maka has had enough.

She's closing tonight, and Soul is outside waiting to walk her home, standing with his umbrella in the drizzle under a streetlamp, looking content as he taps his foot to whatever music is coming to him from his headphones. She sees that light about him again she sometimes catches from a distance and shakes away the thought that it's somehow otherworldly.

"He's cute," Kim says with a smack of her gum and another spray of disinfectant on the counter. "'Bout time you got yourself a boyfriend, too."

Slapping down the stack of twenties she'd been counting, Maka turns bodily to her coworker. "He's _not_ my boyfriend. We're _friends._ "

"With benefits!" Patti pipes up from somewhere in back, and Maka lets out a frustrated little screech, before shaking her head.

"You already know that's not true, Pat. You and Liz interrogated me last weekend, remember?"

"Lots can happen in a few daaaays," she sings out from wherever she is and Maka just huffs out a sigh.

" _Nothing_ happened in a few days. He walked me to class, we saw a movie, we ate dinner. Same stuff I do with you and Liz and Tsu and Blake."

"Except it wasn't with any of us." Patti finally comes from the back with a mop and bucket. She dips and slaps and splatters them all with soapy water, causing a few groans. "And you don't hang out with a _ny_ of us that long, ever."

Maka shrugs and takes up a pile of tens to count.

"Admit it, you liiiike him," Kim says with a grin and a nudge to the ribs, pink hair swaying with the motion.

"Nope." Maka keeps counting.

"He's waited for you every shift this week. He's here every break. You sure he's not stalking you?"

"Psh, no," Maka scoffs. "Like I said, friends. And he doesn't have many friends from what I can tell-he's not from here-so just-"

"Could we all go out?" Patti bounds closer with the mop. "I mean, if you're gonna hang out with him this much, shouldn't we all-"

"No!" Maka responds too loudly, then reddens. Her eyes stray to where he's still waiting. "I mean-he-maybe? Soon? He's just-he's sort of shy, and I don't-"

"Well," Hiro says flatly. "I think you should stay away from him. The way he's always around, it's weird. He could be dangerous or something, you just met him."

She knows it's the truth, has thought it herself, but she _knows_ him. In her gut, she knows him, and the defensiveness isn't quite fair, but she feels it to her bones. "He's not dangerous," Maka responds curtly. "And quite frankly? It's none of your damned business who I spend my time with after work. Now, if you'll excuse me, the till is set and I'm going to clock out. Soul and I are going to dinner."

"This late?" Kim raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, shove it!" Maka snaps, and then she's in the back, changing, and then she's out the door without a second glance. Soul grins widely at her when she nudges him for attention, but quickly frowns.

"I'm fine," she sighs. "Just a long night."

"Nothing a good greasy diner burger can't cure?" His little inquisitive grin is so sweet, she can't help but grin back.

"That sounds perfect."

"Well, then, shall we?" He holds out an arm for her to take in mock gentlemanly fashion and she takes it like the lady she isn't, sticking out her tongue at her staring co-workers.

And Maka realizes with sudden force as she holds his arm, his skin warm even through his jacket, that though they are just friends, though they've never crossed any line that goes beyond friendship, she wouldn't mind if they did. Since day one, she's felt so connected, and now, hard as she'd fought against the pull in the beginning, as much as she's tried to resist the sheer gravity of being near him, it's become difficult to imagine her life without him. She likes him-really, really _likes_ him-and the fact that thought makes her so giddy scares her most of all.


	2. Here Comes the Sun

Maka is excited, though she tries to tell herself she shouldn't be, tries to quell the stupid little flutters in her tummy as she walks to work. She's put on lipgloss. She's left her hair down. She may be in her work uniform, but she looks nice and she's brought a cute little sundress to change into.

For the first time in a month, she doesn't have to carry an umbrella. The sun is shining, bold and bright, and the forecast says no rain, no rain as far as the eye can see, no rain for weeks.

Her spirits soar because she has a _date._ Well, Maka thinks it's a date. Probably. Before now, Soul has always just been there after work, and so, they'd spend time together, but this was planned. Two days ago, they'd decided that since she has no class tonight, maybe they could see the new action flick that's out. This was _planned_ , and suddenly the sun is shining and maybe they can take a walk in the park and enjoy the gorgeous weather because it's a _date_ , her first since-well, those few disastrous double dates her friends had pushed her into freshman year of college.

Maka doesn't really date. Maka has _never_ really dated. Dating is for people who believe in romance, believe in love, and she doesn't. Or she didn't. But now, at least a part of her _does_ -not that she'd meant to-not that she _wants_ to-she just can't help it.

She's not even sure she wants to help it anymore.

Humming as she goes, she's to the cafe all too soon, reluctant to leave the warmth of the sun on her skin but eager to be able to see Soul. He should be in soon. He's always in soon.

Only this time, he's not. Hours pass and he doesn't show up. Maka takes her break alone, worry gnawing her insides. She's packed a sandwich she can't eat, her stomach roiling with concern. He's always here for her breaks. Always always _always_. Something must have happened. Something-is he hurt? Oh god, oh no, is he-

Forcing herself to breathe-in, out, in, out-and not to bolt up to the local hospital, she curses the fact they've never exchanged numbers. _Why have they never exchanged numbers?_ They're friends, aren't they? They're-more than friends, even, maybe.

This can't be happening. Maka needs answers. Frowning deeply, she claws her phone out of her pocket and dials a number that rarely sees use. Kilik Rung is a friend from high school, three years older, who has since become a cop. They occasionally hang out together with their group, but they aren't close. Still, he owes her a favor or three for all those times she'd bailed him out of an academic sticky spot even as he moved on to college-she was her friends' universally favored tutor-so she ignores the slight surprise in his voice as he picks up and gets to the point.

An hour later, she has her answer. Soul hasn't been arrested. He's not in a hospital. No reports of him. Wherever he is, he's not dead and he's not injured and he's not in jail.

As her shift ends and he's still not there, her worry slides slowly into anger. The idea of a date must have scared him off, and he'd run for the hills. Just another guy. She might have known.

Tamping down on that lingering wisp of worry, Maka walks to the park alone and sees the movie alone and refuses to admit the hurt she feels.

* * *

Soul doesn't come back the next day or the next. He's gone, like a will-o-the wisp she dared get too close to, vanished into the ether from which he'd appeared with the coming of the rains.

Maka finds herself missing the rains. Days of sunshine, gorgeous, days of a few puffy white clouds and a slight breeze, days she would normally bask in-not yet scorching, but warm and perfect. She cannot bask. The rains had meant he was with her, and with the sun he had gone, and she wants to go back to when it was wet and bleak and her heart was full. She's angry, she's confused, but most of all, she's hurt.

It's stupid. She's stupid. They'd only been friends, just friends. Not even good enough friends to exchange phone numbers. Maybe they'd never been friends, not really. Friends don't just leave without a word. Maybe she'd just been a curiosity to him, a way to pass time, Maka doesn't know. She wishes she could say she doesn't care. Yet, why had his talk of the future always seemed to include her? Why had he grasped her hand so warmly those times he'd held it? Why had he told her only the night before he'd vanished how happy he was to have met her, how she was the highlight of his days? And perhaps most of all, why make plans he'd never intended to keep?

In the end, she supposes, the why doesn't matter. Soul had come and he'd gone and, somewhere in the mix, she'd lost her heart. She, Maka Albarn, with the idiot philandering Papa and the long gone Mama, she, Maka Albarn, who knows better than to fall in love, who knows that it only ends well in storybooks and fantasies. _Stupid stupid stupid._

Stupid or not, she can't change reality, can't change her heart, can't change he's gone, like her mama before him, like her long shattered image of who she'd believed her papa to be, like anyone she lets herself get too close to. Maka feels like a ghost of who she was, her heart half full, like he's taken a chunk with him she doesn't know how to take back.

It _hurts._

It hurts, so she does what she knows how to do, does what she does best. She throws herself back into her studies, lives for work and school, and hopes eventually the hurt will fade and she will feel whole again, lesson learned.

Somehow, somewhere deep within her soul, she doubts it.

* * *

Her friends are worried.

They offer her sympathetic glances and whisper when they don't think she hears. At work, coworkers give her the easiest duties and Hiro clings to her like he hasn't dared do since she first started at the cafe, chattering on about nothing in particular. Maka is withdrawn and people notice, of course they do, so when her roommate and her oldest friend show up to drag her out after work the following Tuesday, she really should have expected it.

"You need to get out," Blake says as he drags her by the elbow away from the cafe. Her shift just ended and he has shown up outside the door along with Tsubaki, pouncing the moment Maka steps foot outside. It is late afternoon and the sun is high in the sky, overbright. "You're gonna start gathering moss if you don't see the sun sometimes, bookworm."

Shielding her eyes, she frowns, her headshake picking up speed. "I see the sun plenty, Blake," Maka manages. "Now would you-"

Blake just scoffs, loudly. "Shyeah. Like walking to work and back, I get it. Since when does Maka Albarn get all mopey over some lame guy with bad hair's what I wanna know." Never mind his hair is worse, the garish blue dye job eye searing even in the best possible light.

Maka catches Tsubaki out of the corner of her eye, shaking her head vigorously and making wide motions with her arms that signal _abort, abort, abort._

So that's what they think of her, do they? That she's so hung up over-over-

Well, _she'll show them._ Doesn't matter how true it is; Maka Albarn _will not_ be an object of pity for her friends.

"Alright, Barrett. You. Me. MMA. Winner buys dinner."

"YUS! That's the pigtails we know and love! You're on!" He sweeps an arm around her shoulders in camaraderie and steers them both towards the gym.

An hour and a few bruises later, Maka is in the gym locker room with Tsubaki, fresh from a shower. While she's sore, Blake must be even worse since she'd handed him his ass. She only beats him in a spar about half the time, but there's something to be said for pent up rage. The prospect of a free meal hadn't hurt either.

She notices her roommate staring at her with a frown as they each towel dry their hair.

"Something wrong?" Maka ventures.

"Nothing." Tsubaki shakes her head. "Just-want to make sure you're okay. You're okay, right? We've all been worried."

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa is many things, but nosy isn't one of them. Maka can brush this off and she knows her friend will drop it and worry in silence, but her heart is sore, and her body is aching and numb from the fight, and she thinks maybe-maybe she can talk about it. A little. Because Tsubaki is her closest friend, has been for years, and her dark blue eyes are inviting, and Maka's soul is so heavy and empty all at once.

"It's just." She sucks in air. Admitting the truth to her friend is hard when she doesn't even want to admit it to herself. "I miss him." She doesn't let Tsubaki get a word in as the other woman eyes her sympathetically, just keeps going, unable to stop the flood of words. "Which is _so stupid,_ I know, I mean I've only known him a few weeks, and he's just a friend, so it's not like-it's stupid." She shakes her head. "You know what? It's nothing. It doesn't matter."

Done drying her hair, Maka throws her towel in the hamper and sweeps her hair back into a simple ponytail using the elastic on her wrist. She ignores Tsubaki's sympathetic stare in the mirror as the taller girl weaves her own wet locks into a braid down her back in favor of grabbing her shoes from the bench, sitting to put them on.

"It's okay to be hurt." Maka hears the sadness in her friend's voice though her eyes remain steadily on her own shoes. "Maybe you've only known him a month, but you guys were close, anyone could see it. You're allowed to be hurt. Just don't-don't let it ruin things, okay? Maybe he had a reason, or maybe he just got scared, but whatever happened-he's just one guy. He's not-"

She can't keep the bitterness from her laugh. "I know, _I know_ , he's not every guy. Just like my papa isn't every guy. I'm _fine_ , Tsubaki." She finishes lacing up her boots and begins walking, calling back over her shoulder. "I'll meet you out front."

Her heart feels too raw to say more. Maka hates feeling so exposed, hates that he's made her so-so _weak_. She'd survived her papa cheating on her mama for years, survived her mama vanishing and her papa falling apart. This, too, shall pass.

It has to.

* * *

Staring at her ceiling as her alarm blares at her the following morning, Maka is resolved. She will think of him no longer, she will feel nothing, she will reclaim the missing chunk of her heart. She declares the chunk found, never lost, declares herself whole, declares any and all snarky musicians with white hair and deep voices and rare smiles dead to her, personas non grata. Willing herself to move forward, to leave the heartache behind is second nature.

It's not like she doesn't expect the ones she lets too close to her soul to disappoint. They always have, always will.

The mistake was in letting Soul get close in the first place, in letting herself hope, in giving him that power.

She knows better, she does, and next time, Maka will remember so that there can't be another _next time._

Today marks the end of a week since he'd stood her up. Time to start fresh. Her morning class drags, but work is busy enough that she's able to shove him from her mind completely. Hiro offers to buy her dinner later, the second time he's offered that week-but Liz rescues her, insisting that Maka is already going out with her and Patti. Maka doesn't protest, preferring to avoid Hiro's overeager friendship. And anyway, getting out will be good, getting out will be _normal_. Maybe she'd rarely done it before-well, _before_ -but even then, sometimes she'd let her friends prevail. Like she's going to do tonight.

Her shift done, she throws on a change of clothes in the bathroom and then, book bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, makes her way out of the cafe, ignoring the hooded figure leaning on the building near the door.

The last thing she expects is that figure to peel away and start following her, and she might have thought it was some sort of creep and she was about to need to employ her extensive MMA training when she glances back to see white hair and a familiar slouch.

Maka walks faster, heart pounding in her chest, and he picks up his own pace, catching up and falling into step beside her.

Why is he here-why _now_?

Her pulse is racing. Calm, Maka, calm. Ignore him. Walk to class. He's safe, and that's a relief, and they owe each other nothing beyond that knowledge.

He says her name, softly, questioningly, and she snaps.

Fuck that. _Fuck that_. He owes her a damn explanation.

Anger shoves its way through her veins and into her heart. Rage, pure and hot. Yes, _this_ she can work with. This is far better than the hurt, the pain that threatens to break her lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest crack to seep through.

"Where have you been?" She whirls on him. Soul gapes for a moment, looking torn. "I was _worried sick_. I actually called Kilik like a damn fool." She shakes her head as he continues to gape. "Actually, nevermind, it doesn't even matter. I might _care_ if we were actually friends, but clearly we can't be since friends don't just disappear without a freaking word, do they?" she whirls back and keeps walking and ignores the relief his proximity brings, lets the anger burn more brightly.

For a moment, Maka leaves him in the dust, but she hears his footsteps pick up just after and he's beside her again. She picks up her pace as he pleads, "Maka, wait, I can explain-just-"

"I _waited_ last Thursday, I'm done waiting," she hisses as she power walks. Soul is panting to keep up even with his much longer stride, and she would gloat if she weren't so heartsick, the rage battling with sheer hurt and unwelcome relief within her soul.

They've reached the park on the edge of campus as he struggles to keep up, and she stops and turns, still furious. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to class. I'm sure you have somewhere better to be, like wherever the hell you've been the past _week_."

Maka is about to turn again, but he takes a step towards her, reaching out as if to touch her, though he falls short, hand hovering near her own balled fist at her side. "Maka," his voice sounds frayed, broken. "Please, I didn't-I didn't have a _choice_."

Her laugh is a short, bitter bark. "Of _course_ you didn't." She shakes her head. "Look, I don't have time-"

"Just-" Soul cuts her off, and she wants to turn and leave him, the fire in her heart all-consuming, but the sheer desperation in his red, red eyes gives her pause. There are people passing on their way to class, the campus thick with students at this time of day, but in spite of the fact she knows how anxious he can get in a crowd, he doesn't even seem to _see_ them, his eyes are fixed on her so completely. They're making a scene, and she's not sure she cares either. "I'm sorry, Maka, I'm _so sorry_ , and I missed you-I missed you so damn much. Fuck." He rakes a nervous hand through his hair, the same one he'd reached for her with only moments before. "I shouldn't even _be here_ , don't you _get it?_ This is stupid, so fucking stupid, this is _dangerous._ But I just-it felt like I was missing a chunk of my damned soul, and I couldn't-I had to-"

Her anger bubbles over again. _Dangerous_? Oh yes, a little town like Death City is rife with danger.

"You had to, what, stand me up and make a fool of me? 'This is dangerous,'" she mocks, anger rising to new heights. "Look around you, Soul." She makes a sweeping gesture with her arms. "This is a college campus, not a warzone, and I wasn't born yesterday. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"Maka, wait, if you'll only-"

"Let you explain?" The bitter laugh is back. "You're being a drama queen. Look, you obviously had second thoughts, or maybe you found something better and now you think it's okay to, I don't know, keep me in reserve? Whatever. Just-go away. I've got class and you need to get back to wherever it is you disappeared to."

"Look." His gaze darts around to the people passing and pausing to watch the show. "I can't-I can't really talk here, but if you'll just come with me-just let me _explain_ -I swear to you, Maka, _swear to you,_ I didn't just stand you up, I _had no choice_. So can you just come with me, _please_?" This time, Soul does reach out and grab her hand, and it's so _warm_ that she can't bring herself to snatch it away though a large part of her wants to, wants to escape his grasp and shove him away and never see him again. She's still so _angry_. But his hand feels right, clasping hers, and she's _missed him._

"I-" Maka shakes her head, and as he uses her hand to tow her to a little copse of trees off the main path, she lets him. He pulls her in until they are surrounded by trees, cut off for the moment from the prying eyes who continue about their business.

Soul stops and faces her, squaring his shoulders in a way that seems at odds with his t-shirt and jeans. He sucks in a deep breath as he meets her eyes, gaze so intense the world might be ending. "You wanted to know why I stood you up? Why I had to stay away?"

She nods in spite of herself, because she _does_ , she wants to know, _needs to know_. Maka steels herself for disappointment. He's only a man, after all, and men are typically full of shit. Why should he be different?

"It's because." He sucks in another deep breath, lets it out. "Because-I'm a warlock."

Her laugh is as involuntary as it is loud. She can't help it. Of all the answers Maka might have expected, this one is nowhere on the list. It's _ridiculous_. "And I suppose," she says, trying to keep her voice even as her mirth threatens to bubble over. "You were too busy running from Voldemort to make our date last week, or to come by long enough to apologize and show me you weren't dead, eh?" The pain of that thought sobers her, and she shakes her head. "If you're done-"

His frown is deep and his face is red, but he doesn't let go of her hand. "That's not-that's not all. I'm a warlock, and I had to stay away. I didn't have a choice. It isn't-it isn't _safe_ , Maka."

"If it's sooooo dangerous, why are you even here?"

"Because I missed you, dammit, and I just-couldn't stand the thought I might have hurt you. It was _killing_ me. So here I am." He looks so _sincere;_ it works at her cracks just that little bit more.

"And you're a warlock?" she scoffs again, because sincere or not, his explanation is absurd.

"And I'm a warlock."

"Which means- _what,_ exactly? Because last I checked the list of things that might actually exist, warlocks were near the bottom, just above dragons and fairies and the boogeyman."

Sighing long and loud, he admits, "I know it sounds-okay, I _know_ how it sounds, like I'm full of shit, whatever. But I _am_ a warlock. If I can prove it, will you at least hear me out?"

Her grin is feral. Maka smells blood and her anger dances in her veins again, because this is about to end and she's about to be able to move on, maybe. "If you can prove it, I'll give you all night to explain your heart out."

He doesn't answer, just raises one hand and says a word and suddenly, her feet leave the ground. Suddenly, she's _floating._ Maka panics, because _what the fuck?,_ limbs flailing. "Soul, what-"

"You said prove it. I'm proving it. I'm a warlock." He's actually grinning at her, the bastard, pleased with himself. It's the first smile she's seen since _before_ and, angry as she is, freaked out as she currently feels, it still makes her melt just a little.

"Okay, whatever, can you _put me down already_?"

"As you wish." His grin widens and she recalls his love of _The Princess Bride._ She stomps on that giddy sliver of hope that rises as her feet meet with solid ground again.

This had to be some sort of-parlor trick. Some Cris Angel nonsense. A _warlock._ This isn't Narnia and she didn't just step out of the wardrobe. Maka stoops to inspect the ground, looking for a glass platform, clear wires, _something_ , even if she'd _felt_ nothing. "Nice parlor trick, really," she says, shaking her head. "Should I be looking for hidden cameras? Are Penn and Teller going to emerge from behind a tree to explain how you did it, because-"

"No one's here, Maka, just us, and it wasn't a trick. I can show you more, prove it wasn't some-some illusion, if you'll let me, just-I-can you come with me-please? It's not safe for me here, not safe for _us_ , and I want you to understand. There's something I need to show you. I'll explain it all, everything. I just-I need you to come with me."

"I-" She should say no. Soul had disappeared, and she's still angry, and now he's half delusional on top of it. Yes, it's _dangerous_ because most likely, _he_ is dangerous.

"Maka, please, _please._ I care about you. I need you to understand. Please?" His voice is as pleading as his words, and he clasps her hand more tightly, and it's almost as if she can feel it, his sorrow, his distress, and she should say _no no no_ , she knows that, but her heart-her heart wants to know, wants to believe, wants to give him a chance.

She's an MMA expert. She's carrying a concealed knife, as she often does. He's lanky but awkward. Maka could take him, easily take him, if she had to.

Oh, _what the hell._ "Fine," she says, voice petulant. " _Fine_ , but after this, if I say so, you never bother me again. Deal?"

Soul lets out a held breath. "Yeah, deal."

An instant later, he's towing her out of the woods.

"Where are we going anyway?"

"Uhhh." He runs a free hand through his hair. "You'll see?"

"Oh-kay…" Maka is about to insist he tell her when she catches sight of a familiar head of well coiffed blond hair. Hiro is standing at the edge of the little copse, gaping at her like she just punched him in the gut or killed his cat.

"Oh, uh." She pulls Soul to a stop. "Hey, Hiro, are you-" Before she can say more, he's turned and he's running, far and fast "-okay?"

She wonders what's wrong, wonders if she should try to catch him, but Soul is tugging at her hand insistently and Hiro is already lost in the sea of students around her.

"What was that about? Do you think he saw something?" Soul asks though he pulls her forward through the park and she doesn't stop him again.

"I wish I knew," Maka says with a shake of the head.

They make their way down the streets of Death City in relative silence. Her mind is full and her heart is full and she wonders what the hell she's doing even as she's eager to do it, to know, to understand, and to fight or flee or-maybe neither. As they stop at a garish orange monstrosity of a motorcycle parked in an alleyway in the outskirts of the city, she's surprised when he digs in one saddlebag and hands her an obnoxious black helmet decorated with flames.

"Wait, what-is _this_?" _Why is she here again?_ She shouldn't be going with him-wherever it is he plans to take her-should walk away now. She'll miss class. She'll miss going out with the Thompsons. This is _stupid._

"Uh, a helmet?" Soul sports an amused smirk.

" _I know that_ ," she hisses. "But _why_ -what's with the bike, and where are we _going_?"

"Bike's mine, and we need it to get to my place." There's the smallest shrug as he answers.

Maka should say no. She should. She's still hurt, still angry, and this is how people end up dead in a ditch. And she has class, should already be in class.

Still- _still_ -her heart pulls her forward, compels her shoot off a quick text to cancel with Liz and Patti before strapping on the helmet and mounting the bike behind him.

She knows this is stupid, _she knows_ , but Maka also needs to know _why._ Why he left, why she's so drawn to him, why she even _cares._

So she goes, holding on tight as he speeds off into the sunset.


	3. Down the Rabbit Hoe

Maka feels like she's walked into a horror film. He's driven her through the desert and to the meeting of two cliffs that define a narrow canyon; the dirt road off the small highway off the interstate had been long and winding and did not instill her with confidence. She reminds herself that she can definitely kick his ass in a fight and knows how to disarm an opponent as he dismounts from the bike.

"Gotta walk from here. 'S'not far."

"Oh-kaaaay," she says, skepticism running thick in her voice and in her veins, but she dismounts and follows as he walks his bike between two high cliffs. She feels claustrophobic, it's so narrow, but still, she follows.

They get to where the canyon widens and it's exactly what she expects in the waning light-a dry desert wasteland. "You-live here?" He couldn't possibly. There's nowhere _to_ live. Alarm bells are clamoring and Maka gets ready for the fight.

"Yeah. Just. Wait." Strange words leave his lips and Soul practically _glows_ as he waves his hand over her eyes and suddenly, suddenly, she _sees_. The desolate canyonscape is gone, replaced by a paradise of lush greenery run through by streams. Soul grins at her as she gapes, then wheels his bike into a small shed at the edge of the canyon.

He comes out, and as she still gapes, his grin manages to be both sheepish and shit eating as he runs a nervous hand through his hair. "So, uh, this-is home."

" _You live here_?"

"Thought we established that." His grin widens. "I guess you could call this my front lawn. Real show is inside."

"Inside-where?" Maka eyes the tiny shed where he'd wheeled his bike with renewed skepticism.

"Not there." His laugh is warm, like it used to be, and she softens just that bit more. Soul walks to her side, takes her hand. "Gotta walk a bit, but it's worth it."

She swallows and nods, the trepidation bubbling to the surface again. Walking into a-a veritable jungle. A jungle that had appeared in the middle of the desert out of thin air, she reminds herself. Maybe it's some sort of elaborate illusion-but she's still intrigued. He leads her down a small cobbled path that follows near the cliff side for several minutes, crossing several bridges over small streams that seem to run throughout, until they reach the mouth of a wider stream in the canyon. There's a waterfall cascading down the cliffside, from where she cannot guess, and steps run from the path on either side up behind the water. It's lush and beautiful and Maka feels like she's dreaming, like she's stumbled on some sort of island paradise in the middle of Death Valley. It's _impossible._ Or maybe not impossible, but it would take a lot of time and money and manpower to make something like this happen in the midst of the harsh Nevada desert, and surely, _surely_ , this isn't something that could be done in secret. And yet, here it is, appearing right before her eyes like a mirage.

"This is, well, sort of my front door, you could say." Soul interrupts her thoughts as she stands in awe. "Wanna see the rest?"

"Yeah," she breaths, and he tugs her up the steps and behind the waterfall and, oh my, _oh my,_ this really is a dream, _must be._

There is a hall behind the waterfall of natural stone, but only a handful of steps in, it opens up into a large cavern. She can't say it's natural, though she supposes it might be, because to call it a _cave_ is a gross understatement.

"So, this is home."

They have come to a little wooden bridge that spans a small stream running through the cavern. There is some sort of illumination from the moss covered ceiling that almost appears to come from the moss itself and lights the cave well. Past the bridge, the walls are lined with lush greenery, plants of every description splayed around an almost normal living space, a room with a couch and a television and a coffee table and all the other things one might expect to find in a living room. There is a kitchen on the far wall, and a few openings Maka can only guess might be hallways at various points in the large cavern.

She's in awe. She's _speechless._

"This is home?" she finally manages.

"Pretty sure I just said that." The laugh he lets out is nervous, a stuttering exhalation. "We can-sit, if you want. Talk, maybe. I'd like to explain."

Maka nods, stunned, her tongue struggling to gain purchase. She doesn't even know what she's agreeing to, not really. "You-this- _how is this even here?_ Are you a gazillionaire or something? I feel like I've stumbled on the bat cave."

"Definitely not rich, just a warlock." Another nervous laugh. "And I didn't even _make_ this place, BJ did. I just sort of-I guess you could say I inherited it. Anyway." He starts walking over the bridge towards the living room, calling over his shoulder, "You coming?"

"Yeah- _yeah!_ " She moves to catch up, and as he slides into place on the sofa, she takes a seat near him, a full cushion between. Caution seems warranted; this is all new territory and she's still uncertain. She's seen a jungle come to life before her eyes and a cave apartment that seems impossible and it's just so _strange_. _A warlock._ Can it really be possible?

"Drink?" Soul asks, and she nods again. Eventually she'll find her tongue, but it remains tied as she keeps darting her eyes around to the life all around her. "Soda okay?" Another nod. He knows what she drinks when she drinks soda at all from their many excursions, so Maka doesn't clarify. Expecting him to rise to get refreshments and maybe just give her a damned moment to think-to process-he instead waves a hand and mutters a few foreign words and suddenly, there's a can of Coke in front of her, cool with condensation, another can in front of him, and a plate of cheese and crackers between them.

"Did you just-create that?" Clearly, this must be some fever dream. Food doesn't just _appear._

Soul has already leaned over to take plastic wrap off the plate and grab his own can; he turns to her as he pops it open. "Nah, was in the fridge. I mean I _can_ create stuff, but it's pretty complicated and easy to mess up. Better just to buy what you need like everyone else. I always keep drinks and snacks in the fridge so I can summon it."

"You actually use magic to get yourself a drink instead of just walking to the fridge?" She's incredulous.

"Well, not most of the time. Only when I'm really caught up in something." He has the decency to look sheepish. "Or, like, just now, to show you my magic is not just some sort of trick. I mean Penn and Teller, _seriously?_ " He's suddenly incredulous, it's cute, and Maka can't help her laugh. The slight pout he sports just makes her laugh all the harder, and it takes her a moment for her to swallow down her mirth in favor of information, because this is all new and fascinating and she wants to understand, she really does.

"It is-pretty neat," Maka admits. "But how-" she shakes her head- "I mean, how did you even become a warlock?"

Taking a swig of soda, Soul puts his can down with a slight thunk onto the coffee table. Maka reaches for her own soda and pops the top, expectant.

"I didn't exactly _become_ one," Soul says finally. "It's something you're born with. It's rare. And I had no idea most of my life since it doesn't manifest until puberty."

Her head tilt is thoughtful. "So one day you woke up and, boom, magic?"

"Noooooo." He frowns. "More like, weird stuff would occasionally happen. Like if I was pissed and thought, hey, I wish that guy would trip on his ass, sometimes it would happen. But I didn't know I was doing it until BJ came around."

"Who's BJ?"

"My mentor." The pain that crosses his face is stark, and Maka almost regrets asking. "When I was 16, he showed up on my doorstep and told me what I was and that he was going to teach me how to control it."

"And that was it?"

"Sort of? I mean, my parents wanted to call the cops until he showed them what he could do. And then he started explaining things and training me."

"So wait, your parents weren't warlocks, but you were born one anyway?"

"Yeah. How weird I look is a physical manifestation of it, but it's not like anyone knew that. Like I said, we're rare. _Really_ rare. Nearly extinct. It's some sort of freakishly recessive trait, can be buried in a family line for centuries before it manifests again, at least, that's what BJ said."

Wheels turn in her head. Soul had said he inherited this place. And that his parents didn't have magic. "So BJ gave you this cave."

"The cave, the canyon, and everything inside. He worked for years to set it up to his specifications. It was one of his safehouses, the most hidden."

"Safehouse? But he has magic, right? Why a hiding spot? I mean, I get people might be afraid, but as long as you don't go advertising what you can do and performing impossible feats in front of crowds, it shouldn't matter." Maka's curiosity is peaked; it's all so new, so interesting.

He eyes his drink speculatively, dragging his index finger around the lip then down the side, picking up condensation as he goes. "There's a reason Warlocks are so rare, why there are so few even I'm not sure how to find others of my kind," Soul finally says as he lifts his finger, raising the gathered condensation. It drips back to the side of the can as his finger hovers. His eyes lift to meet hers. "We're hunted, have been for over a millennia." He's more serious than she's ever seen him, red gaze so intense she can almost imagine it's burning.

"So there are people who-know about you-I mean, about warlocks?" Maka's stomach twists at the pain in his eyes.

"Some." His face is grim. "They're also rare, but there are people who can see magic in this world. It's sort of complicated-there are other types of magic than mine-but their mission in life is to eradicate every last bit of it."

"But-but _who_ and _why_?"

"They're called Hunters." Soul let's out a bitter laugh. "And _why_ is the best part of all. BJ forced me read this book about it, stuff that made my head spin, but basically, back in the day when Christianity was just taking over everything, the people running things got together and decided that magic was a temptation wrought of the devil and needed to be eradicated. I mean, the history is pretty complicated, and this wasn't so long after the Great Magical War that wiped out most of the magic." His eyes have the odd, far away look of memory, obviously not of the war but maybe of hearing about it, Maka thinks.

"I'd really like to hear it, if you don't mind telling," she pushes gently.

"Oh, yeah, I want you to hear it." His nod is slight, voice gruff. "I'm just not much of a storyteller. You'd probably be better off reading."

There is a fond smile on her lips as she shakes her head; Soul isn't an epic talker, and this is a lot of story to tell. Still, she's always liked his voice, and it mesmerizes her as he fills in the gaps in her knowledge.

"I guess all these magical people couldn't agree on how to deal with non magical humans," Soul finally continues, "and back then, there were a lot more of us because magical folks live a long time. But then we mostly wiped each other out over that, taking plenty of humans with us. And so, Warlocks and other magic people spread out and tried to blend in, though they also used their magic to get ahead sometimes. Before the shit with the church, Warlocks used to be employed as advisors all the time. There was even an actual Merlin, though most of the stories about him aren't true if this book was right. Anyway," he goes on, shaking his head, "these assholes running the old church figured out that some people born with magic in their line didn't have any magic themselves, but they could see it, so they started seeking them out. They would find them young, train them in stealth and combat while filling their heads with their twisted ideas about the myriad evils of magic, then send them out to seek and eradicate that evil. And it wasn't just warlocks, either, but other magical types, too. Witches and faeries and-"

"Witches-and _faeries_?" Maka knows her voice is dripping with skepticism, but for all she's seen what Soul can do, they're still diving deep into the rabbit hole and it's difficult not to balk. The more he tries to explain, the more absurd it sounds, like a night terror, like the world gone mad.

"I _know_ it sounds crazy." His embarrassment tints his cheeks red. "And to be fair, I've never really _met_ any other magical types, just was told or read about them. I can't _see_ magic like hunters can, I just _have_ magic, though I can-sort of sense it if's active and I'm close enough. I could sense when BJ used magic, but I've never felt anything since but my own."

"Okay." She sighs, trying to wrap her head around it all. " _Okay._ So, let me get this straight. You're a warlock, you were born a warlock, and warlocks are rare, men who can use magic. And there are people called hunters who are trained to kill your kind and are why you've been nearly exterminated. That's-that's-"

She remembers a day weeks ago, a day when Blake had crowed about his latest, greatest comic idea, remembers the book about warlocks and the story of their struggles, their near eradication during the Great War, remembers how they are said to be hunted, how her heart had bled at the thought.

Maka remembers and it all clicks into place with a finality she finds breathtaking. Suddenly, it makes _sense._

"-that's awful, Soul. Really, really awful."

The sigh he lets out speaks volumes. He'd been afraid, she could feel it somehow, and the relief her acceptance brings him is nearly palpable.

Even still, even with this new understanding, there's something that makes no sense. Sure, Maka gets the part about being in danger, but if it's so dangerous, why meet with her for weeks only to vanish?

Her frown has him guarded in an instant, face impassive.

"But what I still don't understand," she says slowly, carefully, and she can see his breath slow with anticipation, "is why you stood me up. Why take the risk for weeks and stop? Was there a hunter? I don't-I still don' _t get_ it." Maka can't keep the hurt from her tone and she hates it, hates feeling so damn vulnerable.

"The rain stopped," Soul says simply, matter of factly, as if it explains everything. This really must be a fever dream. "The rain stopped," he repeats, "and it hurt, _it killed me,_ but it was too dangerous to go out then. I hated it, hated thinking about what you must think, hated the idea it might-you might-" he leans closer and reaches for her hand, the one clutching at the fabric of her jeans in hurt and anger and nerves as if holding on for dear life. His hand is warm and welcome and she grasps it back tightly "-I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. But I was so afraid of worse, that a hunter could really come and hurt you because of me, so I stayed away."

"But what-I mean-" Maka's head is shaking vehemently because voicing the protest is difficult "-why would you only come when it was raining? _Why_?"

Soul lets out a long breath, holding her gaze. "See how there's water everywhere here? The stream in the cave, the waterfalls, all the creeks in the valley, that's not an accident."

It does makes sense, when she puts it together. Soul has surrounded himself with water, or his mentor has. But she still fails to get the why. "Okay, so why the water?" she says carefully, so cautious she might be trying to walk on glass.

"It masks the magic, hides it so that hunters can't see it. They can read magical auras, but not when there's water around to mask them."

"But-"

"How?" he shrugs. "Honestly, I don't get the mechanics, only that it works. And some magical types know how to mask it, but warlock auras are too constant. Only water makes a difference. I only go out when it rains, ever, because that's the only time the hunters won't see. So when the rain stopped-when it stopped-I had no choice."

"I just-" Maka takes in a calming breath, "Why did we never exchange numbers. You could have called me, could have-"

"There's no service for miles, Maka. Wouldn't have been a point. I'm-" Soul clenches her hand tighter, and he looks pained. " _Fuck_ , I'm sorry. And I shouldn't even have come today, it was really fucking stupid, but I'm so goddamn selfish that I couldn't stay away. It hurt so much, trying to stay away."

"Me too," she says, voice small. Maka will not cry. _She will not cry._

The tears stay back, barely, as he smooths the back of her hand with his thumb. "And I told myself, I mean, I told myself that maybe you were hurt too, and I hated myself for that more, so I decided I'd risk it, just this once, I'd be careful and I'd risk it to tell you the truth so you wouldn't be upset, wouldn't-wouldn't hate me. I couldn't stand the thought of you hating me. Of you hurting." He shakes his head. "But I know that's just what I told myself, and yeah it's true, but really, I just missed you so damn much. I-without you, I've felt so-lost. I told you I can feel magic and haven't felt it in a long time except my own but that's not-totally true. Lately, when you're near me, I feel it in you-like my magic is a part of you. I don't _get_ it, but we're connected somehow." Soul laughs, and it's so bitter she wants to hug him, to reassure him, because she _gets it._ She's been hurting the same, for the same reasons, even if she hasn't understood them. Even if she still doesn't. "But you must think I'm fucking crazy, right? All of this is so weird, I know it is, _I'm_ so weird, and you-" He shakes his head, seemingly at a loss.

"I understand, Soul. I understand because-because I _feel_ it. Sometimes, I see-I see this strange aura on you-I thought I was hallucinating. And then, sometimes it's like I know what you're feeling, just _know_. It's-it's weird but, I-"

"We're connected," he repeats, red eyes searching hers.

"I think so, yes. I-yes. And I missed you, I did, but it hurt. I thought-but you just left, just never showed, and I don't know what to do, Soul, because it _hurts_."

"I know," he practically whispers. "I feel it, Maka. I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. But now-now you know why and you can come here, I can tell you how to get here and you can come here anytime, even if it's not raining so I can't go out. I mean." He reddens. "Only if you want to. If-if you never want to see me again, I-I get it, and-"

"I-" Maka licks too dry lips "-I want to, I think. I don't want to-don't want to not see you."

Relief washes over his features and she can feel it. It's strong and hopeful and she basks in it for a moment before nodding. "But I should-I should get back. I already missed class and cancelled on the Thompsons and Tsu will worry if I'm not back soon."

Standing suddenly, Soul pulls her with him. "I'll drive you back, yeah. And I can leave the bike behind so if you want to-"

She waves a dismissive hand. "I can't drive a motorcycle, but I can borrow Tsu's car, so it'll be fine.

"So you'll really visit?" His voice is so hopeful it makes her warm.

"I really will. I'm not letting you off that easy, Soul Evans."

Soul laughs at that and shakes his head. "Wouldn't even dream of trying."

With that, they make their way out of his little grotto home, back to his bike, and finally back to Death City

They drive to her apartment and he parks the bike on the curb. Maka turns, questioning when he begins to walk her to her door. "Shouldn't you go? Isn't this dangerous for you?"

"What's a few extra seconds? If a hunter is around, we're already screwed, and I'd rather make sure you get inside safely."

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine, not worried about me."

"Such a gentleman," she snorts.

"At your service." His bow is comical because it's far too smooth, and she giggles as they reach the door.

"Well. I suppose such service deserves a reward." Maka leans forward, stands on her tiptoes because he's so damn tall, and presses her lips to his. The kiss is short, sweet, a moving of lips that lasts more no more than half a minute. It leaves her breathless anyway, not her first kiss though she hasn't shared many, but certainly her first that means anything, the first that makes her stomach flutter and her skin warm.

"So that's how it is?" It's hopeful.

"That's how it is," she agrees as she turns her key and lets herself in. "Goodnight, Soul. I'll be back to visit soon."

Maka stands with her back to the front door, breathing hard as she hears his motorcycle roar off into the night.

* * *

It's been weeks, and it's still dry, but Maka has been seeing him as much as she can. Tsubaki doesn't mind lending her the car since she usually walks anyway, so when Maka doesn't have work or class, she goes. There are some weeks she only sees him once, weeks when she can't manage the time between work and school, and that's hard on both of them, but she tries not to let that happen if she can manage. Since they'd put it all into the open, laid out their cards, they've only grown closer, and visiting Soul is always her highlight, just as seeing him had been before.

Her friends still tease her mercilessly at first about her disappearances, but she's long since admitted that she and Soul aren't just friends. They're seeing each other, she had told the group over dinner one night, and that's why she hasn't been around as much.

There were gasps at that, and a variety of exclamations.

"Maka, that's wonderful!" Tsubaki had gushed.

"Yeaaah, _get it!_ " had been Patti's contribution.

"My baby is growing up," Liz had said with mock solemnity, wiping a nonexistent tear from her eye.

"He rich?" Kim had asked immediately.

"Just be careful," Jackie had warned.

But most loudly, as he always is, came Black Star's declaration of, "If he hurts you, kick his ass. And remember, no ding ding without the wedding ring!"

That had earned him a hard punch to the shoulder, and then Maka had fielded questions, but now, her friends had adjusted to the idea that Soul was a semi-permanent fixture at minimum. At this point, they only pestered her to force him to come to DC and go out with the group. If Maka had invested so much of herself into a man, then they damn sure wanted to get to know him.

Maka understands the impulse. She's spent the last two months getting closer, getting to know him, _really_ know him. The more she knows, the more drawn to him she feels, the more irrevocably bound. Soul can't go out anymore, the monsoon season long gone into an unusually dry spring and any rain brief and fleeting, but it hardly matters, they can still spend time together. At first, they just talk a lot, and sometimes watch movies, sometimes play videogames, sometimes listen to music, sometimes take walks in the canyon he calls home. He plays her piano one night, a song he says he's written for her, and it makes her _feel,_ makes her dip then soar. Maka can't believe he thought he wasn't good and tells him so. He should be a musician. He _is_ a musician. He denies it though, insists it doesn't matter since he can't risk school anyway, and she gets it and it makes her sad.

She always kisses him goodbye, even in those first visits, brief pecks that turn into lingering heat as the weeks pass.

It doesn't take long for the kissing to invade their other time together, hangouts melding with makeouts. Maka really, _really_ doesn't mind. He's a good kisser, mind numbingly good, and being close to him makes her feel dizzy and giddy and warm. Is this what had made her mama throw away a full ride to Harvard? This feeling, this warmth? She can imagine sacrificing a lot for this, for him, but she's not her mama and she also has her own life to live, and Soul isn't her papa, not even close, and she loves this, she loves _him._

The thought, how much she cares, it should scare her but it doesn't. They're _bound,_ and she can feel his soul, feel his affection and his loyalty. She doesn't know how, or why, but she _can._ From Soul, Maka has nothing to fear.

That's why, when he mentions one night there's actually a hot spring in another part of the canyon, she finds herself insisting they go.

"I can't believe you never told me there's a hot spring!" She's indignant. "You're the worst, you know that? The absolute _worst._ "

Soul is leading her down the path that hugs the canyon wall, but he pauses long enough to say over his shoulder, "Never said I wasn't. Really don't see why we're doing this now, anyway; it's not like you have a bathing suit here."

Tilting her head thoughtfully, a slow smile crawls to her lips. "Didn't figure I needed one."

The strangled, "Oh," he lets out is answer enough.

It doesn't take them long to come to the small mouth of a cave, only a few hundred feet down the canyon wall, and Soul leads them inside. The interior isn't large either, but there is, indeed, a large pool of visibly steaming water situated amidst a soft carpet of moss. There is a faint glow from the walls, probably some sort of magic, and Maka lets out an appreciative "oooooo" at the sheer beauty of the place.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool. I just-I dunno, I don't come here much. I have a bathtub and shower in the grotto so I never saw the point."

The eye roll she responds with is well earned as Maka unceremoniously pulls her shirt over her head and kicks off her sandals, leaving her in a bra and short skirt.

His eyes goggle in the most gratifying way. Soul has seen her in a bra before, groped her over one, even, in their recent makeouts, but this is different somehow and they both feel it. Maka tilts her head to one side as she unclasps her bra and slides it off, then slides off her skirt and panties in one go. She doesn't give him time to ogle her long, jaw slack and eyes hazy as he gapes, but screams out, "Last one in is a rotten tomato!" to his indignant protest of, "hey!" before jumping feet first into the little pool.

It isn't deep, coming up not even to her waist, and Maka has to let herself sink to keep her breasts covered as she listens to the muffled curses of her boyfriend, who is struggling with his own clothes. Moving her gaze up to the water's edge, she sees Soul struggling with the button of his jeans, everything else since discarded. His small noise of triumph is adorable as the snap gives and the zipper goes down, and the jeans and his boxers are off in an instant. She barely gets a glimpse of white, of something standing at attention below his belly button, before he's jumped in with a mighty splash, using the cover to tackle and tickle her breathless.

"You're a-rotten tomato!" she gasps out between bouts of tickles.

"And you're a dirty cheater!" he manages as she retaliates, as he becomes similarly breathless.

They call a truce soon after because neither can breathe, and they find themselves close, so close it's natural that their lips find each other.

After two months of practice, kissing has become like breathing for them, but this is different, too, and while it starts off slow, it soon becomes hungry and desperate and as he grasps her hips and pulls her closer and she feels something stiff against her belly, it makes her greedy. She's palmed him through his jeans before, but there are no jeans between them, and she _wants_. His lips and his tongue and his hands on her breasts, it's all too much; she's a flame, _burning burning burning._

Maka shifts her weight and tackles him so that he ends up falling back against one of the shelf seats, eyes wide.

"Maka?" His voice is breathless, questioning and hopeful and reverent all at once.

Her only answer is to kiss him again as she plants her knees on either side of his on the seat, straddling him. The water is strange and soft, like it's full of some sort of fragrant oil, probably more magic. Theoretically, she knows water and sex might not mix, but this seems like it would be okay and she's past being able to care _. She wants._ Maka grasps him where he rests just below the apex of her thighs, pulling from their kiss to meet his gaze.

"I want to, can I?"

He's red and his voice is husky. She can feel his want, too, feel it in more than the hardness she grasps in her palm, see it in his eyes that are liquid flame. "I-it might not be good. I've never-"

"Me neither. But I want to. I really want to." And she does, so badly. After two months, it's like an ache in her soul, the need to be close. She _needs_ this.

"Yeah, me too."

That's all Maka has to hear. With him already in her grasp, she slides him along herself and _sinks._

The first thing she thinks is warm, so warm. There's no pain, just the overwhelming feeling of being filled, of being touched so deeply where she's never even touched herself. He groans her name, snapping his hips up to drive himself deeper and she sees stars and wants to see them again, so as one, they begin to move.

It doesn't last long _. It can't._ It's true, nothing gold can stay, and this closeness is so much, too much. It isn't long before they reach their end, him diving over the edge first only for her to follow. It's light and heat and every nerve drowning in sheer pleasure before she crashes back to earth, his arms around her as they both pant in unison.

"That was-it was-" he's struggling for words, but they don't really need them.

"Yeah, it was," she agrees.

There are no regrets, not for either of them, as they bask in the warmth of the water and each other until it's time for Maka to go.

* * *

Maka doesn't get home until morning, and maybe she hasn't got much sleep, but she can't find it in herself to be sorry.

Yeah, maybe she's tired, but it's a small price to pay.

Still, she's missed Tsubaki, who has already gone to class, and she responds to her worried text from three AM last night with, "I'm home and I'm fine," before getting ready for work.

She's not at all surprised when her friend shows up at the cafe later that morning, right after her classes end, ordering a tall latte and taking a table. Clearly, she means to wait until Maka's break, and Maka figures she owes Tsu a huge apology. She really should have texted her, but she'd been so wrapped up in- _things_ -it just hadn't occurred to her.

It's noon by the time she can take her break and Tsubaki's been there almost two hours. Maka brings over a couple of chicken salad sandwiches by way of apology as she slides into the booth across from her closest friend.

"Brought you lunch," she says cheerfully. "Sorry about last night, I just-"

Tsu cuts her off, but instead of looking hurt or angry like Maka expects she should, she just looks smug. "You stayed over at Soul's."

"Yeaaaaah," she admits. Shit, she hadn't figured on that assumption, which is just stupid of her, really. It's a pretty natural-and correct-conclusion to draw, and Tsubaki has a shockingly dirty mind anyway for someone so genuinely _nice_ and caring in every way.

"Did you-?" The eyebrow waggle is too much and Maka goes scarlet, but still manages a nod of confirmation. She can't lie, not to Tsu.

As Tsubaki gives off a delighted squeal, the sound of a fist slamming on a nearby table startles them both. It's Hiro, cleaning up after some customers. Maka offers him a placating smile, but he just turns with his tray of dishes and moves off. He's clearly _angry_. Maybe the customers had been assholes.

Turning her attention back to her friend, Maka wants to run and hide at the knowing smile on her face. "Was it good?" Tsubaki asks, and Maka can tell she's trying to keep the excitement out for her voice.

"Yeaaah," she admits, face hot. "It was-really good."

"Ahhhhhh!" She's beaming. "I'm so happy for you! _Oh my god_ , but this was your first time, right? Did you use protection? _Please_ tell me you used protection."

The heat has risen to five alarm fire, but fortunately, the place is crowded and Tsubaki isn't loud. Still, Maka wants to die. "I-we-I mean, I'm on the pill, and we've never-he's never either-so-"

The way she's suddenly frowning makes Maka even more self conscious. "You're sure he's never-"

"I'm _positive_ , he wouldn't lie." Plus, what she can't tell Tsu is at this point, she's pretty sure she would be able to tell if he actually did.

"Then good. You going back tonight?"

Maka shakes her head. "You know I have class, but tomorrow."

"Well, then, I won't wait up," Tsu says with that same knowing smile, and Maka wonders if her blush will ever go away at this rate.

Then again, if the price for her time with Soul is a mere blush, then she's more than happy to pay it.


	4. Nothing Gold

Her excitement as she walks towards her apartment after work to pick up Tsui's little Honda is so thick that Maka feels light headed. The last day had been tedious and a blur all at once, going through the motions because she _has to_ in order to see Soul again. But now-now it's time, and the drive alone feels like too much. She just wants to be there, in his arms, to replay their time together two days ago, to be that close again. And sure, she realizes she's taken a swan dive, that she's ten feet underwater and sinking fast, but it's like she's a mermaid coming home, coming to a place where she can truly _breathe_.

Music blasting, Maka drives the desert stretch to get to him with the windows down, basking in the heated wind and the knowledge that she'll be there soon, _soon_. The thirty minute drive isn't long, not in the scheme of things, but it feels like an eternity before she arrives at the little road off the small highway, before she reaches the canyon mouth and parks.

The walk to his cave has become habit, the trees visible to her since he'd woven her into the spell. She loves the trees, loves this oasis in the middle of the desolation of Death Valley he calls home.

A wide smile breaks across her features as Soul is waiting there on the path to the cave, waiting for her, and as his own smile breaks to mirror hers, she finds herself rushing into his arms, lips seeking his eagerly.

The kiss is heated and full of promise, full of the same want that had driven them two days ago, and Maka feels giddy. This. Yes, _this._

She is wrenched away suddenly, forcefully, and thrown to the ground. There is pain and confusion, but more than anything, there is the vision of a man with a wicked blade lunging for Soul, and she doesn't think, she _acts._

Primal scream on her lips, Maka lunges to push Soul out of the way, taking the slice meant for him to her arm in the process. It _hurts,_ she can already feel the wet heat of her own blood, but she has to focus.

Standing in a defensive crouch over where she's pushed Soul, she glares at their attacker. He isn't tall but he's got some wiry, compact muscle visible beneath his black t-shirt and dark jeans. His greasy, dark hair hangs down, limp and stringy on his shoulders, and his dark eyes are trained on her, calculating. The sword is strange and incongruous with his modern appearance, a long, wicked, curved blade.

His laugh, an amused chuckle, she does not expect. "Ah, don't worry, I plan to spare you, warlock lover. Did you know your little blond boyfriend at the coffee shop gave up that you and the warlock are together, blubbering like a fool at the bar?" His smile is as wicked as the curve of his blade and the urge to kick his teeth in is strong. "I owe you my gratitude, really-following you was my in. In truth, I was merely passing through. This is such a clever set up; I never would have suspected a warlock out here without your boy toy cluing me in. So if you have any kind of brain in that little head of yours, you'll very kindly step aside."

His words sting. Hiro had-so this was her fault. _All her fault._

"Fuck off," Maka spits back at him, rage filling her. This man lives to kill people like Soul, lives to kill the one she loves.

Soul doesn't stand a chance against him. He's long since explained that hunters are able to neutralize most magic as a function of their nature; a divergence from those who can wield magic is those who are immune to it. While they cannot bypass the most powerful offensive spells, the type of magic lost to lore, anything Soul could try would be wasted energy. Hand to hand is the way to fight them, and Soul lacks that training.

Maka, on the other hand, knows how to fight. She resolves to fight for them both.

The lack of weapon is less than ideal, but she's confident in her skills. She lunges, hoping to feint and sweep his legs, but he anticipates her move and she finds herself on the defensive.

 _Crap_. The guy can fight.

"Since you're so keen on protecting him." The swordsman steps closer, taking an offensive stance. "You can die with him!"

Fully expecting the lunge, Maka sidesteps easily and manages to send him stumbling wide, whirling to an offensive position, but offense is largely wasted when he has a blade with reach and she's left with her fists. Hearing the scuffle of Soul scrambling to her feet behind her, she barks, "Stay," but it doesn't stop him from approaching her back.

"Let me _help_. This is my fight, Maka, not yours. Mine."

"No," she hisses. "This is my fault, and I'll-"

She never gets to finish as the swordsman lunges, and before she can even think to react, Maka finds herself shoved to the ground again, this time by Soul. Her world goes still, momentum against her as the sword connects, arcing across the warlock's chest in a bloody line.

As his body crumples and the swordsman lunges back, assessing, she _screams._

Her world is ending, collapsed to the pathway next to the water in a bloody heap, and she sobs in helpless despair as she scrambles to Soul, cradling his limp form to her chest, utterly lost.

He'd taken the blow for her, _for her._ Maka hadn't protected him, had brought this upon him and failed them both. His eyes are closed and _there's so much blood_ and she doesn't know what to do. MMA tournaments haven't trained her for _this._

A dark chuckle draws her eyes and she sees the man standing smugly a few feet away.

"Take your time. It won't change your fate."

There are no words, _no words_. Words have always come to her, the English major, the girl who longs to share her love of words in a classroom, but there are none. Instead, her rage and grief bubble out in a second scream-an animal sound wrought of pain, grief, despair, an echo of the deepest reaches of her soul-and suddenly there is light. Maka senses it, the magic, sees it arcing from Soul in a crashing wave of destruction, though he isn't awake, feels it, hot and angry as it envelops the man coming at them.

Surprise is all the reaction the hunter has time for as he disintegrates before them, the destructive heat and force so all consuming that not even a speck of ash is left behind.

Maka doesn't have time to be stunned, to wonder what happened, to wonder how such magic had come from Soul when he is bleeding out in her arms, unaware, magic he's claimed to be impossible, magic he's claimed not to know. She doesn't have time for relief when he's hurt and she doesn't know how to help him. Breathe. _Breathe_. She can't help him if she doesn't breathe.

Inspect the wound, that's the first step. The cut isn't that deep, which is something, but it's long and he's lost a lot of blood. There is so much soaking both of them that her world is red red red, as red as his eyes. He's _dying_ , she can feel it, and she doesn't know what to do. Focus, Maka, _focus._

Soul needs help, needs a doctor, but they are so far from a hospital. Even getting him to her car in this state will be difficult, and Maka has to-stop the bleeding-something. She tries to remember her first aid training, but it's not enough, she knows that. Whatever she does, it won't be enough, there isn't _time._ The tears start to fall, down her cheek and mixing with his blood _. She has to try_. Stupid stupid _stupid_.

"I just want you to be okay!" she cries out in her frustration, in her despair, because she doesn't know how to make that happen and he's going to die, _Soul's going to die,_ and she refuses that reality, absolutely refuses.

There is light again, a brilliant flash, but this time it's different. It's warm, but not hot. Soothing. It washes over them both in waves and she feels the pain in her arm that she's been ignoring fade, gone with the light and the heat.

When the light dissipates, Maka looks down and sees red, but this time it's not the blood but his eyes as Soul smiles up at her fondly, reaches a hand to wipe the tears that still streak her cheeks.

"Maka," he breathes and it's _reverent._

He stands, pulling her up with him to face her, and she blinks. Maybe she's lost too much blood and this is the type of fever dream she had feared when he first revealed his magic. He can't be standing there, smiling at her so lovingly, _can't be._

"Soul?" Maka tries to blink away her confusion because she refuses to concoct a beautiful dream if the reality is they're both bleeding out. The tears return because he's standing, he's whole, and this can't be real.

"It's okay," Soul pulls her close, wipes her tears again. "Hey- _hey_ -I'm okay." And as if to prove it, he presses his lips to hers, warm and salty with her tears. It's precious, it's life, but it lasts only a moment before he sways and she has to steady him.

"You've lost so much blood, Soul. We should-we need to go in and you need rest. I don't know-I don't know how you're even standing, but we should check your wound, make sure-"

"I'm okay," Soul repeats, but lets her lead him inside, lets her pull him into his bedroom. Maka sits him on his bed, a place she's rarely seen but she'd hoped to see more of today, just not like this. Never like this.

Her hands are gentle as she sits beside him, working aside the tear in his t-shirt-red, so red-to find where he's been cut. There is drying blood smeared over his chest, but the gaping wound she expects to find doesn't exist. Maka runs her fingers where it should be and marvels at the scar she finds instead, puckered and angry, marvels that she finds his flesh healed and whole. She remembers her own wound and checks it, and it, too, has only a scar.

"How?" Her eyes move to his, then back down to his scar, and she gawks. Her fingers return to trace the scar.

Glancing down himself, just as stunned, Soul shakes his head. "I don't-I don't know, Maka." He grasps her hand, the one fingering the scar over his heart. "But I think you saved me." His free hand finds the place where she should be bleeding, smoothing over her new scar. "Saved us both."

"No," she shakes her head vehemently. "I didn't- _how-_ -"

" _I don't know._ But-fuck, I was so afraid, Maka, so damn afraid." His eyes move to meet hers again, pained. "It was just like BJ all over again. The guy came out of nowhere. I couldn't stand the thought of him hurting you and there wasn't a damn thing I could do."

"It was my fault, Soul, I led him here, I-"

Squeezing her hand, he cuts her off. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. I had forgotten that asshole from your work might have seen something. I caused this, not you."

"You didn't-"

"It was just like BJ," he repeats. "BJ told me never to go out when there's no rain, fucking told me, and I thought he was exaggerating, full of shit. I led the pack of hunters right to us, and now, I did it again. Fuck. _Fuck._ "

"It's not your fault, Soul. You can't help being hunted. You can't."

" _I should have listened_ ," he's distraught, eyes unfocused, thoughts caught somewhere in the past in a clear haze of blood loss. "I should have. He sent me here, did I tell you that? When he saw them coming, he made me run and held them off and sent me here. Even then, I didn't listen, though." He laughs, a bitter sound. "I dove in the lake near the house and I hid and I waited, waited hours like a coward and ventured out late to find his body sprawled in the living room, cut to shreds. My fault, Maka. BJ was the only warlock I knew, found me and took me in and taught me and eventually died for me because _I couldn't fucking listen_ , and now you-"

"You can't help being hunted," Maka repeats, and she leans in, ignoring the wet she feels as she cradles his head to her chest. "You didn't know, Soul. You didn't."

Her heart is breaking, for him, for them.

For a time, she just holds him, but his breathing evens eventually and she murmurs his name.

His lack of response is telling. She repeats it, "Soul?" and he yawns against her.

"'M sleepy," he mutters.

"Sleep," she says softly, pushing his body towards the bed and helping him lay.

It's not long before he's snoring softly. She arranges covers over him from the foot of the bed and pushes back his hair, kissing his forehead softly.

Maka steels her resolve. This is goodbye because it has to be. The hunter finding Soul, _hurting Soul_ , that's her fault and hers alone and she will not be a danger to him. Soul told her some time ago that hunters work alone. This one had only just followed her, and now he's dead. No more can find him if she stays away; even the hunter had said he never expected a warlock here. If she goes and never comes back, Soul will stay safe.

That's all that matters.

Her heart cracks in her chest as she pens a short note. Her hurt doesn't matter.

_I can't see you anymore. I'm dangerous to you. Stay safe._

Leaving it on the nightstand, Maka makes her way out and to her friend's car and away, meaning to never, never return.

It really is true, she thinks as she drives home, blinking back tears, as she remembers their time together and the night they had shared before it was all torn apart, torn to shreds.

Nothing gold can stay.

* * *

It stays dry for weeks.

Her note had said she wouldn't be back and Maka keeps to that, but it _hurts_. She's missing her heart and she doesn't know how to stop the pain, but she has to keep him safe.

So she goes through the motions. It's like before, in a way, when the rains had stopped and the sun had come and he had gone with the clouds, but this time, she has purpose. Maka is keeping him safe, and that's _important._ It doesn't matter how much her heart bleeds, how much her soul aches, how much she feels like she's missing half herself; if he's safe, she can manage. If Soul is safe, she can live her life without him.

It doesn't help that she's been seeing magic. At least, Maka is pretty sure it's magic. There is a light to everyone she sees now, resting deep in their chests. In most people, it's faint, nearly undetectable, but there are a few who glow brightly. Kim is one of them, though she can't tell what that means. But it's _magic,_ has to be. In her time with Soul, she had taken it upon herself to read some of the books BJ had left him and one had insisted there was a spark of magic in everyone, a spark of life some would call the soul. In magical people, that light is just stronger, just _more._

Maka resolves to research it further when the semester ends in a few weeks. Maybe she no longer has access to BJ's extensive library, but if the college had that book on warlocks, they might have other books that could help. Even if she can't see Soul anymore, she'd like to know what it is she sees, would like to understand how. Though she has seen traces of odd things since she met him, it really started the night he almost died, and she can't help but wonder _why._ She still doesn't understand what happened then, how the hunter died, how Soul was healed, how she was healed herself, and she _wants to know._ It eats at her that she doesn't. In a way, the curiosity is welcome if it helps her forget the pain just a little.

Then again, the pain is constant. She's numb. She's empty. Everything reminds her of Soul. Everything is different, now, changed, and she can't get her old life back, not really.

At least Hiro quit the cafe.

It's her fault, her doing, and she isn't sorry-not for lying to him and not for driving him away. Soul could have died because of him, they both could have. Furious, she'd stormed into work the night she returned, knowing he was on shift. She was covered in blood still, hadn't cleaned up, made a scene because she wanted to make a _point._ To keep Soul safe, she had to make sure Hiro never ran his mouth again.

"You!" she had shrieked as she flung the door wide.

It was near closing and the shop was always dead that time of night midweek. There'd been only Hiro along with Patti, the other closer. Maka had nodded to Patti, a quick gesture to indicate she wanted her gone, and Patti knew her well enough to comply quickly. She'd hear about it from her friend later-Patti might have been out of sight but she wasn't out of earshot-but for now, Maka needed Hiro to feel alone and isolated.

"Maka, wha-" Hiro had gaped, stammered.

"You told some crazy asshole Soul is some sort of wizard and he _attacked_ us!" She waved a hand pointedly over the blood covering her.

"I-I-" Maka had stepped closer, then, fisting his shirt. "I-I saw him! He made you _float!_ I saw-and I was drunk, and you-"

"He's a _street magician,_ Hiro! What the hell is _wrong_ with you? Don't you know a damn illusion when you see one?!"

"No-" he shook his head insistently. "I saw- _god_ , did he _really_ attack you?" Hiro had looked so stricken in that moment, blue eyes watery with unshed moisture, that Maka softened just a bit. After all, he couldn't have known that the guy was a crazy asshole who would hunt them down. He really couldn't have.

"He almost _killed_ us, Hiro." She loosened her hands and stepped back. "He came at us with a sword-a goddamn _sword_. We barely got away, and he managed to slice my arm." There was dried blood caked on the small slice to her forearm, and though it had somehow healed, uncleaned, it still looked gruesome.

His head in his hands, Hiro shook it. "God, I'm sorry, _I'm so sorry_."

"Remember how you were thinking about transferring to go back to Cali, go to school near your parents? You _should_."

"I-already got accepted at UCI." He had looked almost hopeful at that, like he was looking for something.

"Good. _Go._ If you're hallucinating cheap magic tricks into fairy stories, you clearly need to get out of the heat."

His face had fallen.

"Yeah-I- _yeah_. It just looked so _real_. But it couldn't be. Your-your boyfriend," he had spoken around the word with distaste, "is a really good magician. He should try going to Vegas, he'd-"

"And after what you did," Maka cut him off. She had no patience for small talk and he was clearly seeing things her way. "I never want to see you again after tonight. I'll even help Pat close out the till since it's time. Do we understand each other?"

Her frown was menacing with her clenched fists, her stiff posture. Hiro had been to one of her matches, had seen what she could do. He'd swallowed and nodded and while Maka thinks she's since spied yellow hair and spikes from a distance on campus, she hasn't really seen him since.

Mission accomplished.

Just as Maka doesn't feel bad about lying to Hiro, though she didn't usually like lying, just as she has no remorse over driving him away, she also didn't feel sorry for the man who died, obliterated somehow by Soul's magic. The hunter had been trying to kill them, would have succeeded if not for the magic, and she feels only relief at his passing.

It's been three weeks since that night, three weeks of ache and loneliness and her friends wondering what happened to Soul and trying to soothe her as she replies, simply, that she'd broken it off. Patti speculates that it has something to do with the bloody shirt incident with Hiro, but has the decency to stop bringing it up when Maka looks stricken every time she does.

She can't talk about it. She wishes she could, there's so much to sort through that she needs her friends more than ever, but she can't, refuses to put Soul in more danger. Tsu forces her out several times, as do Liz and Patti. It doesn't _really_ help, can't, though she does welcome the distraction. Sparring with Tsubaki and Blake is therapeutic in the short term, though it can't erase the hurt, and while the clubs Liz and Patti drag her to are loud and gross, it's nice to get lost in the music for a few hours.

Even if music just reminds her of _him._

When Maka gets off work one afternoon, it's raining for the first time since she last saw Soul. The storm has been hovering for hours, but there's a lull, so it's only sprinkling. She's forgotten an umbrella, but the moisture is light, barely there, so it's really not a problem. She basks in the coolness against her skin and thinks of a time not so long ago when she wouldn't have made this walk alone. She misses him so damn much, wonders how he's doing, wonders if he misses her, too. But missing him is familiar now, so she lets it wash over her, the ache and the emptiness, as she walks.

Her feet steer her towards school. Maka doesn't have class tonight, but finals are next week and she could use the time to study. Finding herself in the little copse, she sighs. She comes here sometimes when he's on her mind. She likes it, likes the green of the trees, an oddity in the desert that's kept healthy by the groundskeepers, likes that it reminds her of that day he had finally told her the truth, likes that it reminds her of his little oasis she'll never see again. When she stands like this, thinking of him, her skin cool with slight moisture, she can almost feel him close, can almost sense him in that way that had become familiar as they got closer.

But there are footsteps, the rustling of grass and underbrush, and the last thing she wants is to be social, so she opens her eyes.

She expects a stranger, but it's not, it's Soul, standing there holding out his umbrella.

"Maka." The reverence in his tone thrills her and breaks her and makes her anew.

"How are you here? _Why_ are you here? I thought I told you-"

"Just-I _know_ ," he cuts her off. "You told me you didn't want to see me, but I _missed_ you, fuck did I miss you. Waiting for rain was hell, but I couldn't put you in danger again, so I waited, and then I waited outside the cafe and I followed you here and there's something you need to know, okay? Once we're done here, you can tell me to fuck off and I will Maka, I swear I will, but you have to know the truth first. Just. _Please_?"

It's starting to rain harder now and she has no coat, just a thin shirt and skirt, and while the trees shield them, fat drops begin to slip through. Soul steps closer and she lets him, lets him share his umbrella. The pull she feels to him is so strong, stronger than when they met, the need to be close buzzing along her skin and through her soul. He sounds so _desperate_ and it hurts, she hurts, but what choice is there? Still, he's here now. She can stand beside him. She can listen. They both deserve as much.

Maka swallows and nods. "Okay, you can-you can tell me."

The sigh he breathes melts her heart that little bit more. She _feels_ him. With him close again, the numbness is gone, the ache. There is pain, yes, as there must be, but his pain is her pain, his relief hers, too.

Soul talks and she listens.

"Remember when I said you saved me?" She nods slowly. "You did. You killed the hunter, you healed me, healed us both. That was all you, Maka. Not me and not a fluke, _you._ "

"But I don't have magic. So I couldn't-"

"You _didn't_ have magic," Soul agrees. "But now-now you have _mine_." There is a hope in his eyes, a brightness, and Maka feels that hope like a beacon.

"That-that doesn't make sense."

"We're soulmates, Maka. That's why-it's why I can sense you, _feel you_. Why I was so drawn to you. Wasn't it the same for you? That connection we both felt?" She nods, slow, careful. "So when we got closer-when we-" he colors fiercely, cheeks flashing red "-were _together_ , it sort of, strengthened our bond. Cemented it, I guess. And when we were threatened, even though I was out of it, even though you didn't know what you were doing, your soul sort of-took over. Directed my magic towards the hunter, then used it to heal us both."

She's shaking her head, because while Maka supposes that makes a strange sort of sense, there's part of it that _doesn't._ "But your magic can't do that, Soul. You told me you couldn't. That you could make things less painful but couldn't close more than a scratch, and that you're helpless against a hunter. So how-how could I use your magic to heal or to-to _kill_."

"Because we're soulmates," Soul repeats. "Because being bound to you bolsters me, makes my magic stronger, because we bolster each other. We-" he searches her gaze "-we share a soul. Our souls were always connected, _always_ , but now they are inextricably intertwined."

"Oh," she breathes. So that's why. Why she can feel him. Why he feels like the part of her she'd never known she was missing. "Is that-I've been seeing things, Soul. This-this light in the center of everyone, and sometimes it's stronger, like with you-is that because-because of this, because of _us_?"

"Yeah," he says. "It's-the soulmate of a warlock, they usually gain sight. Most warlocks can't see magical auras, but if they have a soulmate, the soulmate can see them. It's even possible hunters actually originate from soulmate pairings, I guess, it's why they have the sight." He's rambling and she can feel he's nervous. He's waiting, anticipating. Maka is, too, in her way.

"But-" she purses her lips in thought. "How do you know?"

"Eh." Soul scratches the back of his neck. "Believe it or not, I read about it. After you-after-I sort of didn't know what to do with myself and I needed to figure shit out, so I started looking through BJ's books, and I found my answers. We're bound. And that's-I mean, warlocks are rare, right? But warlock soulmates are like-rare even among warlocks. When there were more of us, there might be a handful of pairs in a generation, but now?" He shakes his head. "And it's _powerful._ You saw that. And-well, I know you don't want to see me, but I'm not sure that's possible for us anymore. Soulmates who part, they grow weak, they grow sick. It hurts the mind and the spirit. And-I mean, even if that _weren't_ true, I love you Maka, I hate being apart. But I thought you should know that. And I really just-want to be together again, if you'll let us. That's-that's all I came here to say, I guess."

"Okay," she says. It's not even a thought. She meant to protect him by leaving, but it seems she'll just hurt him that way, too, hurt herself in the process, and that's not _worth it._

"Okay?" he breathes.

"Yeah." He's leaning close and she knows he wants to kiss her, but she puts a hand up, stopping him by the chin. "I love you, too, and I want to be together. But. There are conditions."

"Con-ditions?" He looks so confused; it's _cute._

"Conditions," Maka insists. "One," she removes her hand from his chin as she begins. "I'm moving to the grotto. There's no reason for me to stay away, and I don't like being apart. It'll be a pain, but I can drive back and forth to stuff if I suck it up and get a car of my own, and we're safer there."

"Done." He's beaming. She's pretty sure she is as well.

"Two," she continues. "You apply at DCU. You get that music degree you always talk about."

His smile falters. "But the hunters. We're in the desert-they'll _find us_."

Her answering smile is grim. "Let them, Soul. I don't want to live in fear. Do you? We're stronger together, you said it yourself. Your magic is stronger now. You weren't awake, you didn't see what happened with that hunter, but I _did_ , and I say, let them come if they dare."

Soul swallows and nods. "Okay." As his nodding continues, his face looks more hopeful. "Yeah, okay. It'd be nice to just-to be like normal people, normal couples. See movies and go to classes and go out in the damn sunshine. So okay, yeah, we can do that, you're right."

"Damn straight I'm right."

There's a pause as they look at each other, breaking into matching smiles.

"So, is that it?"

"Almost. Just one more thing. _Three_." She leans closer. "I expect more visits to the hot spring."

"Yeah?" His voice is suddenly husky, his eyes molten.

"Yeah."

He grasps her chin and closes the rest of the distance between them, kissing her, and it's right, it's _home._

Maybe it won't always be easy, maybe nothing gold can stay, but _he_ can, and for Maka, that's all that really matters.


End file.
